


A is for Ashton

by Forbiddenmichael



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Ashton Irwin - Freeform, Calum Hood - Freeform, F/M, Flirting, Luke Hemmings - Freeform, Michael Clifford - Freeform, No Smut, ash makes cocktails, ashton works at a bar, based on a beach, but then when is there smut in what i write, cal works with him, just fluff, kinda cute, theyre cute, you are the girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forbiddenmichael/pseuds/Forbiddenmichael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your drink” he beamed, handing you a tall glass with a faintly orange liquid in it surrounded by ice. You took it from him but didn’t take a sip, instead placing it down on the table with your book. “But I didn’t order anything?” you questioned, eyebrows raising from surprise and then furrowing together in confusion. “No” he said, taking a pause before saying, “No, you didn’t”. A small secretive smile slowly creeped across his face. </p><p>or when drinks just keep arriving courtesy of a mysterious 'A'</p>
            </blockquote>





	A is for Ashton

**Author's Note:**

> kinda cute, kinda fluffy. yeah okay...that's it

The sun beat down on you, tanning your skin and turning it golden. Its burning heat was offset by the salt breeze that blew across you; it ruffled your hair and tousled it with its salty qualities. Laying on a sun lounger on the exclusive beach was a wonder. It was only exclusive in the way a small fare had to be paid to lounge on one of the rattan sun beds under a wooden, thatched umbrella. A bar was also present on the small strip of well-kept beach, serving all kinds of drinks; mocktails, cocktails, fizzy and still drinks, and typical beach snacks. The slightly yellow sand was free of cigarette buts and bear bottles like you were sure littered the rest of the coast line, kept pristine by the tanned staff members dressed in sparkling white linen. Soft soothing music played out of the hidden speakers situated around the area, reminding you of some sort of fancy hotel area, without the modern twist that most coast line beach bars seemed to adopt. 

You’d chosen a sunbed close to the sea, not close enough that any rich family’s children could flick wet sand in your eyes whilst they made sandcastles in the damp sand, but close enough that the best of the cool sea breeze helped the sweat evaporate from your body. The simple, plain black bikini you were wearing was only for tanning, nothing fancy so that any excess straps wouldn’t leave oddly placed tan lines that would be hard to cover up. Even though you were squinting to read your book against the glare of the sun, your sun glasses stayed on top of your head. Panda eyes formed by wearing sunglasses in the beating sun were never in fashion, and you were not planning on making a fashion statement. You’d been there for hours, just enjoying the wonderful weather, your book and the fact that all was- mostly- silent apart from the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore and taking pebbles back with it when it retreated. The slow crash then the noise of the stones on one another was rhythmic and soothing and the hours and minutes ticked by .

Soon afterwards you flipped over onto you front. Hoping your back would tan and reach the same bronzed colour of your front, which you had left exposed to the sun more. You had been surprised that you had tanned so much due to the amount of sun cream you had slathered on yourself before arriving at the beach. The towel you had been lying on was now scrunched up under your head as pillow, giving you something to rest your head on other than the scratchy woven plastic of the sun bed. Head turned down you only saw two dusty looking black vans and a pair of thin claves wrapped in tight skinny jeans, approach you. The rest of the person was obscured. You’d long since dog-eared the corner of your book and left in on the low lying side table attached to the umbrella, so you brought your hands up from your sides, placed the palms down on either side of your head and pushed upwards. You sat, then, on the bed sideways. You were conscious of the fact that the woven plastic had left an imprint of its design on your stomach and was probably leaving one of your bum right then. Pushing the irrational thought out of our head you looked upwards. A boy was standing next to the sun bed, looking down at you. His shoes, meant to be black, were dusty with the finer grains of sand that had stuck to rubber soles and canvas material, black skinny jeans constricted the moment of his-rather feminine looking in there thinness and shape- legs, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled upwards covered his torso and chest. The shirt was semi see-through in the light and you could faintly see the tanned skin underneath it, the rolled sleeves ended just above his elbows, blocking your view to the muscles of his arms that practically burst from the thin shirt. But his long wavy, slightly-darker-than-honey coloured hair, wide twinkling hazel eyes, dimples deep enough to render the depths of them too deep to even see, and a blindingly white huge smile made the boy simply, drop dead gorgeous.

A circular black tray was balanced at around head height on one of his hands. Hands that were so large they took up almost the whole inner circle of the tray, which caused you to wonder had he ever dropped one of those trays as they seemed dwarfed and completely stable in his lage hands. “Your drink” he beamed, handing you a tall glass with a faintly orange liquid in it surrounded by ice. You took it from him but didn’t take a sip, instead placing it down on the table with your book. “But I didn’t order anything?” you questioned, eyebrows raising from surprise and then furrowing together in confusion. “No” he said, taking a pause before saying, “No, you didn’t”. A small secretive smile slowly creeped across his face. You had a hard time trying to work out whether you preferred the beaming mega-watt smile or this tiny little one. Before you could open your mouth to question what on earth he was going on about, he started fumbling with something on the tray. He produced a small piece of white card, laminated and shiny on the one side but flat matt on the other. The boy handed you the white piece of card. “To show my appreciation-A x “ it read. Small yet extreamly neat writing, black ink colouring the white was printed on the card. You furrowed your brow, now even more confused. “Appreciative of what?” you mumbled, asking yourself. So when the, supposed waiter from the bar spoke, you jumped slightly. “Of you, Miss” he said with a little giggle afterwards. Then he walked away, black tray tucked under his arm. His departure left you wondering, what the waiter’s –was he even a waiter? – name was, why the little too-adorable-for-a-guy-of-your-age giggle and secretive little smile were present and how on earth he could be so attractive? Those feeling were mixed in with a feeling of pride that someone had bought you a drink, even if it was some sleazy old man at a beach bar. And also with a hint of self-consciousness that this random stranger had been watching you- which would have been difficult due to where you bed was situated- and the fact the only thing you knew about him was his name started with an A.

Shrugging, you decided to ignore it. Just savour in the fact that your ranging thirst could be quenched by a free drink, courtesy of the hot- hot was an understatement- waiter. Cautioning a glance towards the bar as you brought the drink to your lips, you saw no one looking in your direction. The longish haired waiter was behind the bar, but he was mixing drinks and flipping cocktails. So not a waiter then, a mixologist. That explained the unfortunate absence of a name tag but not why he hadn’t gotten someone to take the drink to you instead. He was flushed with orders and his hands almost blurred as he made the drinks.  
You took a taste of the drink. It was sweet, the hint of alcohol just at the back of your throat and the ice had melted slightly so it was truly cold. A Malibu and pineapple maybe? Savouring in the sweet taste it left in your mouth, you lied back down on the bed and closed your eyes. The sun warmed your back as you thought of names beginning with A. Andrew? Anton? Aaron? 

Your sugary drink had not long since been drained, leaving only bare ice melting in the long glass before the sandy vans were visible again. You sat up in the same way as before, and the honey haired boy picked up your empty glass and replaced it with another. This one was in one of those stereotypical cocktail glasses and looked like some sort of red slushy. A strawberry was placed on the rim of the glass. “Miss” the boy notified, inclining his head forwards, towards you slightly and then turned on his heel to leave. He didn’t give you a chance to speak before his figure made its way back behind the bar. With more doubt in your mind to whom this mysterious A was, you took the glass, holding it from the top of the stem and took a sip through the small black straw poking out of it. This one tasted of berries, it was sweet, but not as overpowering as the one before, the tiniest hint of alcohol was left on your tongue and some of the seeds of the fruit mixed in with the melting small pieces of ice. This was growing even weirder. 

More drinks arrived. Some nicer than others. And that was the weird thing. Based on how much of the drink you left in the glass, depending on how much you enjoyed it, different drinks came. If you took a partial like to sweeter fruity drinks more of those arrived. It was nice, in the way that over the period of around four hours you hadn’t needed to order a single drink. But oddly creepy in the way that even though you had glanced over in the direction of the bar many times, you never caught a glance of anyone watching.  
The sun had started to mellow, nearly dipping behind the deep blue line of the horizon. This meant that after a full day of tanning, it was time to leave the serenity of the beach. So you stood up, swaddled your lower half and most of your stomach up in your towel, grabbed your book and then took the half empty tumbler glass full of clear strong liquid- the latest concoction delivered by the handsome boy in the tight white shirt- in your hand. You stuffed your feet into your flip flops and made your way across the sand towards the bar. Each grain of sand sunk as you stepped on it, some flicked up with the heel of the flip flop and every one glinted slightly in the setting light of the sun. Approaching the bar, you scanned the counter, looking for anyone remotely your age- you hoped they weren’t older or younger- leaning on it. The thought that some of the “cocktails” were actually virgin mocktails, as you could actually think clearly without the fog of alcohol, didn’t cross your mind. Seeing a wooden bar stool become available, you took the opportunity and slumped into it. The shade supplied by the jutted out roof of the bar was welcomed after a day of pure sunlight. “What can I ge-“a cheery voice started before it cut off. Turning to face into the bar instead of around it, you saw the wide smiled boy who had been delivering your drinks for the whole day. He smiled, but then that little smile turned into a smirk. 

A smirk that was definitely better than the little tilting of his lips upwards into that small smile. His eyes shone, but more with mischief this time. “I’m looking for A?” you spoke, making air quotes around the letter. But you’d begun to grow nervous, crossing and uncrossing your legs underneath you and twiddling your fingers together. However the boy eluded confidence, it radiated off of him in a way it hadn’t before. He smiled- no, smirked- and then looked to and from the sides of the bar. Scanning and making sure he wasn’t being needed anywhere else, he stuck his hand out across the bar. Calloused palm turned towards you, and then motioned his fingers in a ‘come closer’ motion. Leaning forward in your seat, you placed your elbows on the counter top, and then moved your face closer to his. The glass of liquor was close to your arm but was left abandoned. At such closer proximity his eyes looked slightly golden, flecks of lighter brown highlighting the darkened colour, his eyelashes were light and fluttered against high cheekbones. Deep coloured lips showed against tanned skin and his breath- hot and minty- fanned against your face. “Hi, I’m Ashton” he whispered into the close distance between you. Then physically taking your breathed away he placed his lips to your cheek. You couldn’t react in any other way but to say, “As i-in an A?” you choked out. Feeling slightly dizzy after the contact and pressure of his lips on you. “Yes,” he chuckled, still so close to you. “A for Ashton” he laughed, exhaled air tingling across your lips.

Your head was spinning. How could this be happening? It was absurd. It didn’t make sense. Yet it did. The reason you never saw anyone looking was because it was the person you were never expect. The hot mixologist behind the safety of the bar. He lent back slightly, taking in your features at such a close angle. “So,” he began, smirk still on his face, a looked that did in fact look great on him, “Do you think that maybe I could take you out for more than just drinks some time?” The ground felt unsteady before you as he bit his lip, cutting the smirk in half as he worried with his bottom lip. You were both still leaning across the counter towards each other, somehow as if some string was pulling you together. “I mean, maybe on a date, if you wa-“but he was cut off. His sentence stopped and his tugging at the bottom lip cut short as you reached you hand up, around the back of his neck and pulled him towards you. His lips touched yours and something crackled across the space. Something like charged electricity that would leave your lips buzzing even after you’d broken apart. He’d been startled to begin with, letting out a small yelp, but after a second let he reacted. He used on of his hands that he been placed under his chin to support his head on, and used it to cup your jaw. The roughness and his palm added to the other hundreds of sensations you were feeling, many of which were heightened as he angled your head so that your lower lip slotted and was positioned between his. A loud whoop and Ashton suddenly lurching forward, resulting in his teeth clashing forward into yours somewhat painfully broke the kiss. The forward motion was due to being slapped on the back in some sort of ‘bro-code’ signal for well done.

As the fog cleared and you came back to reality, a voice, again, broke the daze. “Get in there Ash!” someone shouted, an accent similar to the angry looking boy who’s lips had just been on yours, highlighted in his jeering. The shouting boy had a lot darker skin, tousled -but obviously styled that way- blackish brown hair and tattoos littering his arms, and he was doing some sort of victory dance also behind the bar. He was dressed similarly to Ashton except his sleeves weren’t rolled upwards. The dance resulted in a lot of limbs being thrown in what looked like painful angles. “Fuck off Cal” Ashton growled. The tone in his voice making your knees grow week and tremble slightly. It was a good job you were sitting as your legs may have given way right then. Ashton shoved the tanned boy in the chest, hard, and he stumbled backwards. The boy, ‘Cal’, -probably a Callum maybe, or couldn’t you spell it with one ‘L’ now-a-days, barked out a laugh before disappearing back into what must have been the kitchen. Ashton turned back round, some of the anger still dark in his eyes. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop a noise that definitely wouldn’t be explained easily, coming out. “Was that a yes?” he asked, genially asking with a pair of self-conscious, downcast eyes. “God yes” you muttered out before his hand tangled with your hair and his lips tangled with your own.


End file.
